


Classroom Etiquette

by FoxInBox_aka_FIB



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Canon Compliant, but Kaneki is a good teacher, ghouls can't read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxInBox_aka_FIB/pseuds/FoxInBox_aka_FIB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naki spreads the word that Kaneki knows how to read, and can teach others. This ends with a classroom of ghouls and a fair bit of writing on the walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classroom Etiquette

(Later, Kaneki would learn that it was Naki who began telling the others that he could teach them. At the time, though, it was hard to figure out why it was that a group of young children had taken to stalking him from the shadows whenever he was back at the base. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure why there was a group of young children at the Aogiri base in the first place. It was starting to fray his nerves.)

It’s a week in before any of them finally gather the courage to actually approach him as he’s passing through. 

It’s a young girl who stops him while her friends hover worriedly nearby. She looks up at him with wide brown eyes, and even though this child looks very little like her, Kaneki finds his thoughts moving towards Hinami. He pushes them away quickly, unwilling to dwell on those memories. They will do him no good here and now. Instead, he turns his attention to the child fidgeting uncertainly before him, her eyes bright with something he can’t name despite how scared she looks.

“Yes?” He prompts after a long moment of heavy, awkward silence. 

The girl squeaks and draws back at the sound of his voice, and it finally strikes him that in this little girl’s eyes, he is something to be feared. And not just this girl, but nearly everyone that knows of him, human or ghoul.

He’s...not sure how to feel about that.

He had wanted to be stronger, more capable of protecting those who are important to him, but the reality that he has at least partially achieved that goal is still strange. Especially if it comes at the cost of those he never intended to hurt being terrified of him.

He waits another few seconds before deciding he doesn’t know how to handle a group of children staring at him like this, and decides it’s best if he just leaves now while he’s ahead and no one’s dead or crying. 

He turns to go, only to freeze up when a tiny hand catches at his own. He looks down, takes in the sight of brown skin and pink fingernails against his pale, damaged flesh, and realizes that it’s the first time someone has touched him without it hurting in a long while. Something inside him twists and he has to swallows a few times before he is able to speak around the sudden tightness in his throat. 

“What is it?”

The girl is still watching him with frightened eyes, the other children huddled behind her, but she hasn’t let go of his hand. She takes a deep breath, visibly steels herself, and looks him directly in the eye. 

“Teach us how to read, Eyepatch-sama.” She says, seeming confident despite the fact her voice is high and shaking. Then, after a pause, she squeaks out a timid, “Please?” 

He feels his mouth pop open into an “O” of surprise. He stares at her for a long moment, then slowly moves his gaze over the other four determined, scared faces that are gazing up at him. 

He realizes that the light in the girl’s eyes is hope, of all things. He thinks again of Hinami, of her joy with each word added to her vocabulary and the way she would write down everything she learned in her notebook. His chest feels tight, but it’s an easy decision to make. 

“You’ll have to find some material to learn from first,” He begins slowly, watching the way their whole countenance shifts immediately with his words. “-and I can’t promise I’ll be a good teacher. But if you can find something to start with I’ll do my best to teach you what I can, when I have the time.”

He smiles when they all cheer, more excited about the prospect of learning than he’s ever seen any child, ever. They rush off, promising they’ll be back soon with books and paper and pencils. 

And, just hours later, they are back. 

He’s a little surprised, honestly. He’d sort of thought that it had been some sort of dare or test of courage. After all, why would they ask a dangerous stranger to teach them something that any other adult could probably do a better job at? Still, he had promised, and with a sigh he decides he can’t go back on that promise. 

He has them gather round him in a tight circle in a rarely used storage area, laying out the scraps of newspaper and moldy old volumes that they had managed to scrounge up from back alleys and dumpsters so that they can all see. He scans over them, picking out kanji that are simple enough for kids of probably 7 or 8 to grasp. 

They refuse to write on the floor and instead record each word in careful, clumsy handwriting on the skin of thighs and forearms with a single marker shared between them. He ends up having to show them how to properly hold the writing utensil. He can’t help but marvel at how their hands look so tiny, so breakable next to his own as he readjusts their grips. 

The time passes quickly this way, the conversations and questions coming easily as he answers inquiries and shares his thoughts on the kanji and their various meanings and the ways they come together to form entire stories. Despite their enthusiasm, he can still see how their eyes glaze sometimes and knows that they aren’t following everything he’s saying, but it’s still somehow pleasant to be like this, nonetheless. Their joy is refreshing. 

“Eyepatch-sama?” 

He sighs and says for the third time, “Please, just call me Kaneki. If we’re going to be speaking regularly, I’d rather you use my name.” 

His smile is small and strained, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice. She nods resolutely, the other four children following her lead.

“Kaneki-sama.” She says, and he sighs again but elects to ignore the honorific for now. She continues, unhindered. “Would you teach some other people, too?” 

He blinks, silent for a second too long before he manages to say, “You really want to come back?” 

She nods.

“You think that other people would want to learn?”

Another nod.

He purses his lips, and after a moment of silent contemplation, he nods back. “Yeah, if they want to learn, I can teach them, I guess.”

The children grin, bright and joyful, and somehow the whole bleak complex seems brighter after that. The illusion only lasts until they have disappeared, back to their own lives, to parents and friends and what he sincerely hopes is a happy and pain-free existence. He doesn’t really believe that they will be back, and so he goes back to the empty room he’s found himself in more and more these days and tries to keep a hold on the fragile threads of his sanity. 

(There were whispers surrounding him afterwards. A soft voice that laughed at how weak he was, to cave under hopeful eyes and sweet smiles. After all, weren’t such superficial things what got him in so much trouble in the first place? 

The voice laughed, reminded him how hungry he was, reminded him how weak those children were and how tender their flesh would be, even if it would taste as rotten as any other ghoul’s as it slid down his throat. 

He did his best to ignore it, but his hands still shook as he made his coffee and his mouth still salivated as he thought of the bared flesh of arms and legs, marked with clumsy kanji that had been willingly offered just moments before. 

He wiped at his mouth, and let the shame that filled him consume him.)

Three days pass, two of which he is gone from the complex, sent on errands that just so happen to involve death and destruction. 

He arrives back, tired and sore and covered in blood that is both his and not. His stomach is twisting inside him, tying itself in knots and despite the fact he’s already eaten more than he can handle, something inside him is still demanding more. 

He is heading towards his private space, wanting nothing more than to escape the voices all around him and the ones clamoring inside his head, when he feels something tug on his shirt. He whirls around immediately, kakugan flaring and teeth bared, ready to defend or attack. 

The girl from before stares up at him, her face twisted with fear as she stumbles back. They stare at one another, frozen for very different reasons. 

“Sakura.” He murmurs, dipping his head, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry about that. Please don’t startle me in the future.”

She nods, blurting out her own stuttered apology. He waits for her to speak further, but she seems unwilling to say anything now. He understands. He nods stiffly and leaves.

Thirty minutes later, there is a knock at his door.

Kaneki jolts, drawn from dark thoughts, and looks suspiciously towards the closed door. He’s not ready to go back out. Not yet. 

He pushes himself into a sitting position, hands folded in his lap as he prepares to meet whoever has come to deliver orders this time. He grits his teeth, pops a knuckle, and rasps out, “Come in.”

The door opens slowly, hesitantly, and there’s Sakura, her face set in a mask of determination. She walks in, head held high and hands hidden behind her back. Kaneki eyes her warily, curious but uncertain as to why she would come here, or even how she knew where he was. 

“I followed you earlier.” She blurts without prompting. “You smelled really bad and looked sad, and so I brought this for you.” 

And with as much of a flourish as a six year old can manage she reveals a handful of crumpled purple flowers. Her grin is bright and she moves forward to shove them into Kaneki’s hands. 

There are petals missing, and the stems are bent and torn. There are still roots and dirt hanging from one of the stems, showing just how freshly picked they are. He stares down at them, and the color is rich and lovely against the monochrome backdrop of pale flesh and black clothes and bloodied nails. 

“Thank you.” He whispers, tearing his gaze away from the gift and towards the child. Her smile grows wider, and he feels tears springing unbidden to his eyes. He looks away quickly. “They’re lovely.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and he can hear her steady breathing and the way that her heart thrums in her chest. Then, she settles herself on the couch right next to him. They are not quite touching, but just by millimeters. 

She is warm. 

He does not feel hungry.

They sit together in silence, her legs swinging idly as she looks around them, taking in the sights of a private space that very few have seen since he took it over. It doesn’t feel like an invasion of his privacy, strangely enough. Maybe he’s just not as territorial as some others. 

“Would you like some coffee? I’ve heard that I make a fairly good brew. Afterwards, you can gather your friends and I’ll teach you some more.”

Her smile lights up the whole room as she excitedly agrees.

A short while later, there is a small crowd gathered in the hallway outside his room. He’s not comfortable letting them all into his space yet, but they don’t seem to mind the arrangement too much. 

There are more of them now, older children and young teenagers that have joined the littler ones, sulking further back with narrowed eyes and sneers. He smiles at them, anyways. He can see resemblances between some of the older ones and the younger ones, and thinks it’s nice that the elder siblings would allow themselves to be dragged along to the lessons. 

They end up writing on the walls with the same marker from the first lesson, clumsily scrawled kanji spilling across previously blank spaces. It isn’t until he has to correct one of the older children’s hold on the marker that it hits him that none of them know how to read. The realization stops him cold, and he freezes, trembling fingers still resting on the child’s hand. 

The boy gives him a wary look and withdraws his hand, clutching the marker close to his chest as he takes a step back. He looks to be in his early teens, maybe 14, and yet it is suddenly glaringly apparent that he has never learned to read or write. That he has never had the opportunity to do so. 

The world is wrong, and this is just one more small example amongst thousands.

(He hadn’t thought of it before. He hadn’t made the connection to Naki’s clumsy, desperate attempts to write Yamori’s name and how Ryoko had only been able to help her daughter with the simplest of reading tasks. He hadn’t given any thought to the comments the others at Anteiku had made about how lucky, how amazing it was, that Touka was going to school. 

He’d never realized that something like reading, of all things, was a privilege many ghouls never got the chance to experience. 

Suddenly, the fact that the children had approached him despite their apparent fear and uncertainty made more sense.)

“Oh.” He says, looking over the group again. They stare back at him, a mix of concern and fear playing across their faces. Kaneki feels the sudden urge to laugh as he looks at them, something bitter and borderline hysterical bubbling like acid in his throat. He pushes it away and says instead, “You are all welcome to come to me any time you have any questions. I’d be happy to teach you, and anyone else who wants to learn, anything I can.”

They all nod, and the younger ones seem confused but pleased at his words, but there is a dawning light in the eyes of the older ones as they read between the lines of his declaration and realize what it means for them and for others who have never had a chance to learn before. 

Their little class continues for another hour after that, and there is much more enthusiasm amongst the older children than before. Kaneki finds that he’s enjoying himself, and it’s a pleasant shock.

The days pass and the number of ghouls who come to him to learn steadily increases. There are eager adults and excited children and teenagers who refuse to participate but who watch with rapt attention regardless. He recognizes a few faces, but most of them are ghouls who he has never interacted with before. Or if he had, their features had been hidden by masks and red cloaks. 

The numbers and faces change with each one of the sessions, which usually come at strange times. The group of children try to grab his attention whenever they see him, begging for lessons, their excited smiles brighter and more cheerful than the sun. 

(His stomach twisted when they smiled like that, his thoughts straying towards another child, many years before, who would offer him a similarly bright expression. He had helped him with his kanji back then, he remembered. It had been the least he could do for the boy who had offered his hand in friendship, who had saved Kaneki from the crushing feeling of loneliness, and who had never expected anything in return. 

He had smiled so brightly, Kaneki could have sworn the sun paled in comparison. Even the pure joy of these children could not hold a candle to the brightness of the one Kaneki had left behind, who he longed to see, but who he knew he had to protect. 

He was selfish. So, so selfish. 

At night, he would whisper his name, broken and longing and the only thing he had left of his best friend.

Miles away, Hide looked up from his research. The codename that was plastered over the tops of each of the papers sent a chill climbing his spine. He looked towards the sky and whispered his best friend’s name, praying that wherever he was, Kaneki was happy.)

The older ghouls usually come late at night after menial daytime tasks have been completed, or else painfully early in the morning, still reeking of blood from the things they do at night. He never turns them away, even when his hunger surges at their scent or he is woken from his nightmares by their arrival. 

It is during one of the early morning sessions, after a sleepless night and when voices are hissing in his head and there’s an itching in his ear, that the marker they’ve been using finally gives out. 

They’ve moved farther down the hall by now, the wallspace by his door having been filled. He pauses in his lesson, gives the marker a little shake, and tries again. He frowns when nothing comes of it and the small group of adults gathered before him begin to shuffle, most of them looking suddenly nervous. 

“We can go. We’ll find something to write with later and come back then.” A man offers, his hand resting gently on the shoulder of a woman Kaneki assumes is his wife. He pulls her closer, ever so slightly, and Kaneki is reminded yet again that these people fear him. He smiles at them all, and he hopes it doesn’t look as messed up as he feels. 

“No, it’s alright.” He states firmly. 

Then he bites his wrist, hard enough to draw blood and deep enough that the red liquid pools before his skin stitches itself back up. 

He swallows. 

He hears someone draw in a deep breath, then hold it. There’s a murmur that goes between them that he pretends he doesn’t hear. 

“This will do fine for right now.”

And he dips his fingers into the blood and continues to write upon the walls. When the blood on his wrist begins to dry too much to be of any use, he simply repeats the action and continues on. 

(After the class was over and he reemerged from his room, he passed by the area the class had been held and was surprised to find the blood gone. 

He stopped for a moment, staring at the space and the few smudged stains left over, the only sign he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. He wondered if someone scrubbed it off in some strange show of respect or if they licked it off in a fit of hunger and desire. 

It was a strange thought, but he found that he couldn’t really bring himself to care too much either way.)

It goes on like this for a little while, until one of the parents pulls him aside after a class. 

The blood is still in the process of drying, and Kaneki notices a gaunt-faced man staring at it with hungry eyes. He shuffles away with the rest of the group before Kaneki can think too deeply about it. His attention is drawn back to the young woman when she speaks, and he recalls that this is the woman he’s seen Sakura clinging to before. He can see the family resemblance.

“Listen, Kaneki-sensei. I really appreciate what you’re doing, but it really isn’t any trouble for one of us to go buy some pencils or something. None of us like to see you hurting yourself like this.”

She smiles at him gently, reaching out to grasp his hand, just below his wrist. There’s still red smeared across his skin. Her fingers are gentle and warm and do not touch the blood. He’s grateful. He smiles and touches his chin with his free hand as he speaks.

“It doesn’t hurt me at all, Akemi-san.” 

He knows he deserves to hurt for all that he has done, for the fear he has caused all of the kind people he has met here, and for the trouble he is certain to bring them all sooner or later. 

Besides that, a wound just large enough to draw the blood needed to mark the walls is nothing compared to what else he has experienced, or what he feels every time he leaves the compound. To bleed for these people is the very least he can do, if it helps them in any way. 

Akemi tries to protest, her brown eyes full of concern, but he cuts her off quickly. 

“I know that no one here really has much in the way of money.” He says softly, and he sees the way her eyes harden, shame suddenly clouding her previously open expression. “It’s nothing to worry about. It doesn’t bother me to do it like this. School supplies can get to be very expensive, especially for a group this size.”

The woman still looks worried, but she lets it go. She says her farewells, her smile still sincere and sweet as she promises she’ll be back for the next lesson and that she looks forward to learning more. It warms him to know that even here there are still those who will care for others. 

Still, as he stares unblinking at the ceiling later, the only light in the room coming from the wide windows that line the walls, he can’t help ruminating over her words. It will be hard to keep track of everything that they learn if it is washed away after every lesson. Notes are important to learning, as well. He chews his lip, contemplating how much money he has squirreled away from Before. 

It’s not a lot, but maybe….

When the children knock eagerly on his door two days later, they are presented with their own notebooks and pencils. His smile is real, if a bit awkward, as they squeal with delight and nearly barrel him over with hugs, crying their thanks.

(“Let me get this straight.” The squad leader said, brow furrowed as the security tapes the store owner had presented the CCG with played across the screen. “A ghoul broke into the store after hours, but no one’s dead?”

His subordinate nodded, her own features pinched as they went over the video for the third time. The other junior team member hummed, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm against the desk. Usually, she’d be annoyed by the sound, but she just couldn’t seem to summon the energy for it this time. Their squad leader continued, voice steadily growing higher in pitch.

“So this ghoul breaks into the store, but it doesn’t look for anyone who might still be there. It doesn’t go after the owner, who’s just a room over. It just...it just steals a bunch of office supplies?”

“He didn’t even steal them.” the woman corrected quietly. “He left money behind on the counter.”

“But what would an SS rated ghoul even need with a bunch of notebooks and pencils?” 

“Don’t forget that he grabbed chalk and markers, too.” She added, reaching forward to pause the video just as Eyepatch turned towards the security camera at last, giving them the only unobstructed view of the culprit they get throughout the entire seven minute video. 

“He even took the time to specifically choose between different My Little Pony and Pokemon themed notebooks.” The man’s voice was a high pitched, reedy whisper. He sounded vaguely hysterical. “Why would he need those?” 

The woman shrugged and muttered, “I’m more concerned about what we need to file this under.”

The squad leader choked.)

There’s a knock on his door, early enough that the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon. 

Kaneki yawns, rubs at his eyes, but dutifully answers, expecting a group of red-cloaked adults waiting patiently outside his door. He’s surprised to find a dour faced little boy instead, his fingers twisting the hem of his shirt around and around. 

It takes Kaneki a second to recognize him, but once he does it isn’t hard to recall his name, considering how often he had heard the others screech it after he had done something mischievous. He smiles, uncertain but welcoming. 

“Ah, Katsu-kun. Good morning.”

The boy doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up from the hem of his shirt, twisting, twisting. His tiny hands tremble. Kaneki thinks of the laughter that he has come to associate with the group that this boy always arrives with, and apprehension seizes him. 

“What’s happened?”

He kneels so that he is at the child’s level. Katsu opens his mouth, but no words come out. His lower lip trembles, but he clears his throat and tries again.

“Naki said that you can show me how to write my mama’s name.” He whispers, voice broken, and Kaneki abruptly understands. 

He tries to recall the name of the woman who would sometimes pick Katsu up when the classes ended, but all he can think of is how her aloof scowl would melt into something warmer, softer, whenever her gaze would fall upon her son. The way her hoarse voice sounded when she pulled Kaneki aside and thanked him for teaching her son something she couldn’t. 

Kaneki swallows heavily and steps aside to let the boy into the room. Katsu moves silently, not even stopping to gaze around the wide space like Sakura had. Kaneki doesn’t blame him. 

“Sit.” He says, and goes to brew two cups of coffee. He can hear quiet sniffling as he finishes up, and he drops two brown sugar cubes from his rapidly dwindling supply into the boy’s cup. 

The child accepts the drink with a mumbled thanks, and takes a long drinks before it has the chance to cool at all. He doesn’t wince as it burns his mouth and throat, just sniffles once more. 

Kaneki doesn’t drink his yet. Instead, he finds chalk and a sharpie, and pulls out a sketch pad he had picked up. He settles beside the boy, their knees just barely brushing as he moves the pad close enough that they can both see it. 

“What was your mother’s name?” He asks, feeling like scum that he can’t recall. The boy looks at him at last, black eyes wide and glassy. 

When he speaks, it’s barely a breath. Kaneki leans in close, and then he slowly, carefully writes out her name so the boy can see. Katsu doesn’t react, doesn’t even look at the paper, so Kaneki flips the page, takes Katsu’s hand gently in his own, and helps the boy to write it himself. 

“That’s it? That’s mama’s name?” He whispers, fingers tracing gently over the figures. Kaneki nods. 

There’s a moment of silence, the only sound in the room the steady beating of both of their hearts and the scratch of Katsu’s fingertips over the paper. 

Then, suddenly, the boy begins to wail. 

Kaneki freezes, memories surging of his own mother’s death. Back then, he had wanted so desperately for there to be someone, anyone, to care enough to offer him comfort. He had wanted nothing more than for someone who knew to hold him tightly and tell him things would be alright in the end, no matter if it was a pretty lie or not. 

He thinks, staring at the child curled up and sobbing just inches away from him, that he should be that person for Katsu, who had come to seek him out specifically. He tells himself that it wouldn’t matter if later the child hated him for his lies as long as he could feel some sort of comfort in this moment. 

He reaches out, slowly, carefully, fingers brushing over the boy’s hair. He sees his hand against the clean black strands, and is suddenly reminded of the blood that he can still feel coating his skin some nights, even after he’s scrubbed his skin raw over and over and over again. 

He withdraws his hand and does not move to touch the child again.

(“You’re blaming yourself.” She said, sounding amused, but there was a hint of something darker underneath the melodic voice. “You’re so foolish.”

Kaneki didn’t bother to respond. He tried to ignore the brush of phantom fingers as they trailed along his arms, across his shoulders, up his neck and then through his hair. He shuddered as the gentle touch turned vicious and painful, and the voice in his ear sounded more like the scuttle of millions of tiny legs. 

“Where did you learn to read?” He asked instead, voice too loud as he tried to drown out the sickening sound of mandibles chewing at his brain and of unhinged jaws tearing at human flesh. 

“Hm?” She sounded lazy now, though that hint of amusement still crept under the facade. “Oh, read? I never learned, actually.”

Kaneki jolted, finally turning his head to face her. Rize was smiling sweetly, but her eyes were cold. Even with the sun streaming through the windows, illuminating the space, she still seemed to outshine it all. Her hair rippled gently in a breeze that he knew was not present, and as always, she was horribly, disgustingly beautiful. 

“But the first time I saw you, you were reading. It was a Sen Takatsuki novel.” He pointed out, brow furrowed. She laughed, high and musical and absolutely chilling. 

“Oh, Kaneki,” She simpered, leaning close enough that her breath tickled his cheek when she spoke. “Who do you know that reads their books at just the perfect angle for others to see the cover?”

At the look on his face, she laughed again, covering her mouth delicately while her eyes glinted cruelly and the fingers of her free hand dug into his shoulder. After a pause, he joined, and the broken sound echoed throughout the empty space. 

Outside his door, four children paused, hands poised to knock as smiles slipped from their faces. 

When the laughter, the sobbing, didn’t stop, they shared a look and slunk silently away.)

There is a group of ghouls that sees him off now, whenever he leaves on an assignment. 

He had told them that such a thing wasn’t necessary, but he had been waved off, assured that this was something they all want to do. He thinks it’s sweet of them, but he still feels a touch of something dark and unnameable, an emotion stuck somewhere between embarrassment and worry and guilt, when he looks around and sees that very few of the other ghouls that accompany him on said missions have even one person to see them off or to greet them when they return. 

Still he hopes (selfish, so selfish) every time he leaves, that each and every person who says goodbye will still be there to say hello when he returns. 

(Sakura always made sure to smile and wave enthusiastically as Kaneki left, calling a cheerful farewell. She wouldn’t tell anyone, because she knew her friends would tease her about it, but she couldn’t help but think he looked brave and handsome, silhouetted against the bright light of a new day. 

She thought she saw him smile as he turned to go.

That was the last time she would ever see him.)

**Author's Note:**

> To be totally honest with you, this was originally intended to be something of a crackfic. I was watching the anime and had the sudden thought that maybe Rize can't actually read and that was why Kaneki just so happened to be able to see the cover of her book to know they apparently liked the same author and suddenly I couldn't stop laughing. Hence, why there is a total disregard for any sort of timeline or canon sense. It got a little out of control, as you can clearly see. I was sort of experimenting with a different/weird writing style here. I'm not sure if I like it or not. In fact, I'm not sure how I feel about this piece in general. So please, give me some feedback. Tell me what you think! :)


End file.
